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Tear down the walls in your mind and start loving the world By Guy Harrison We do not care. There can be no other conclusion. People suffer and die in the world's poorest nations every moment of every day, and it could stop if we in the wealthy societies cared. Forget for the moment all those headlines about wars, terrorism and natural disasters. They may grab our attention but these killers take a minor toll compared to the relentless grind of poverty. Real poverty is a quiet violence that kills with more ruthless efficiency than any conventional war, earthquake or flood ever could. The world economy's output for the year 2000 was trillion, up from trillion in 1990 (OECD), yet somehow there still is just not enough to go around as nearly half the human population, 2.8 billion people, struggle to survive on two dollars per day or less (World Bank). We may have probed the cold blackness of space and we may have peered into the DNA that makes us, but still we cannot end poverty. Why? Out of the world's six billion people, 1.1 billion are undernourished and underweight (UN FAO). Most shock-ing of all are the deaths of more than 30,000 children every day in the developing world (UNICEF). They die from malnutrition and diseases that would be easily prevented or cured elsewhere. Day after day, week after week, year after year, it just keeps happening. It is ironic that we jump to condemn the mass killings of Hitler, Stalin and Pol Pot, yet we support a system of global death that no murderous ma-niac could ever have engineered. The citizens of wealthy nations may shake their heads in sincere discomfort when confronted by television images of children with distended bellies, swollen by the emptiness of hunger, but the uncomfortable moment soon passes and it's back to life in the plastic bubble, back to electing leaders that won't change the status quo. We need to ask ourselves why this happens. Why do we not rush to the side of our neighbors in need? Why do we not demand change? Perhaps the world's poor suffer without end because we do not really think of them as our neighbors. Simple geographic distance plays some role in our lack of action and guilt, but the primary reason is most likely psychological distance. Those 30,000 children that die every 24 hours seem so far away for a very specific reason: They are not us. The walls of nations, religion, and race work to excuse us from meaningful action. These fabricated barriers allow us to avoid a sense of urgency about what is obviously the most urgent crisis in the world. Nations. Nations are not much more than high-tech tribes that offer shortcuts to thinking. They encourage people to feel superior, or inferior, to people they have never met. They also help determine whom we are supposed to care about and whom we are not supposed to care about. The state of Hawaii is a significant distance from Washington D.C., capital of the world's wealthiest and most powerful nation. If those islands were somehow hit by famine, however, the US government would be spoon feeding apple pie to every citizen there within two hours. Why? It is because they are Americans. Why isn't the US government feeding and immunizing every one of those children that face death daily in Africa and Asia? Because they are not Americans. Think about it, compassion travels at light speed within national bor-ders, beyond them, however, it stops cold. Remember that our revered national borders are not a natural feature of this planet. We chose to scribble them upon the Earth and a price is paid for this when they help to push neighbors from our thoughts. Humankind will become a lot closer when nations cease to be all-powerful defini-tions of individuals and become mere geographic descriptions with no more significance than a state or town within a country. Race. We might instantly feel a kinship and responsibility to people everywhere if only we would learn and accept what science has already discovered about the human species. All humans share a common origin. The genetic differences between any two humans on Earth are relatively small. Despite centuries of trying very hard, no one has yet been able to prove that "race" correlates with intelligence or morality at the genetic level. In fact, "races" are not even valid biological categories, according to anthropologists. Still we obsess over superficial variations such as skin color and nose shape, while ignoring the many profound things we share in common. Those in the rich world who think they are of a different "race" from the billion that sleep with hunger each night believe this only because they have been led astray by incor-rect assumptions and lies. Keep calling yourself a color if you must, but don't deny that using illogical labels helps to drive a destructive wedge between us. Religions. Religions do many things to help the poor, but unfortunately they do even more to encourage neglect of the poor. Religions strongly reinforce the "us" and "them" mentality. An attitude of love and responsibility for all people is discouraged when a religion tells its followers that they are right and everyone else is wrong. It may not be by design but the sad reality is that when believers become convinced that they possess the one and only truth, a distance grows between them and those without this assumed truth. It is obvious that Christians or Muslims, for example, tend to care about the welfare of those within their respective religion at least a little more than those outside of it. Like the concepts of races and nations, religion creates psychological distance between people, and the poorest of the poor pay a steep price for that distance. We can have a world where everyone eats and everyone has access to basic health care, but it won't come easily. There are the huge challenges of population growth and environmental destruction that must be an-swered, for example. The first step, however, is for each one of us to stop thinking in ways that help us to sleep soundly while babies die. We do not necessarily need to abandon our beloved concepts of nations, religions and races. But it seems clear that we need to loosen their grip upon our minds so that we can reach out and connect with all of the human family. If clinging to these small fractions of humanity gives you comfort, then try to imagine the potential warmth, power and inspiration that awaits a true connection with six billion sisters and brothers spread across the planet. Let this come to pass. Let us be free to find the compassion that lies somewhere within all of us and then, maybe, the children will not starve. Originally published in the Caymanian Compass on 11 May, 2001

Betrayal of the King By Guy P. Harrison Martin Luther King jr is remembered and honoured by millions throughout the world every time his birthday or the date of his assassination roll around. Words are spoken, prayers offered and tears flow. Just about everybody in sight seems to agree that this was a great man. Three decades after King's departure, however, it is fair to question whether or not this army of fans actually believe in their praise. King's fame is as a civil rights leader in the United States. He was that and much more. He won the Nobel Peace for fighting hate with love. Like Gandhi who inspired him, King served up an example for the ages by converting or at least subduing hardened hearts by peaceful means. King did not "solve" racism and the accomplishments he is credited with would not have been possible without the thousands of faceless protesters that faced dogs and fire hoses and labored at the grassroots level. King should be remembered for his unflinching loyalty to nonviolence and the power of his arguments against injustice. His brief life might best be remembered as a rare lesson which showed that love and nonviolence are powerful forces, capable of winning battles against the odds. King eloquently suggested that nothing short of fairness to all people must be the goal of humankind. Many are quick to em-brace that idea. But how many are just as quick to take a step back when they realize that everybody includes poor people, women, gays, etc. King despised war, both emotionally and intellectually. He made this very clear in his writings and his protest against America's war with Vietnam. But how many of his fans reject all war as immoral? How many Americans cheered when bombs fell on the heads of Iraqis during the Gulf War? I concede that war may be inescapable in certain situations. I just don't believe that such a situation has yet arisen in human history. I suspect that King would have agreed. King spoke and wrote with great passion on behalf of poor peo-ple of all colors in all countries. Again, many will nod in agree-ment with his words about poverty. The nodding usually stops, however, if serious suggestions are made about redistributing wealth or paying the price to provide impoverished babies with a fair shot at life. As a figure of history, King might well be as despised as Hitler considering the aversion to his philosophies so many people demonstrate by their actions. Consider that Louis Farakkahn, a leader with division as a core philosophy, draws tremendous support internationaly; or that women are denied leadership roles by businesses, governments and religions throughout the world; or that gays are openly hated in many societies, or that 40,000 children die every 24 hours only because the wealthy na-tions are too busy to be bothered. "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere," wrote King. Obviously there is plenty of injustice still out there, near and far. Where are all these believers in the message of Martin Luther King, Jr.? Do they hide? Are they too scared to be heard? Or are they simply frauds?If the follwers of King's love do exist, they must know that his dreams are far from realized. Therefore they should never hesitate to speak out, write letters, scream, protest, hope, or whatever else they can do to help nudge humankind foward. Dreams could not and will not make our world a place where justice reigns. Standing up on the side of love, however, can. Soul of the Planet By Guy Harrison Gliding upon the Rio Momon, the world changes. The highly-reflective river surface blends land, water and sky into one. This is only fitting as there are no borders in the Amazon. All things touch. Everything connects. This is true throughout our world, but in the rainforest the interdependence of life is stated loud and clear" An insect crawls upon a plant which sprouts from a tree. And the tree grows up from another that fell weeks before. It is like this everywhere in the rainforest. Layer upon layer of life create something far beyond a sum of parts. This world is an intricate collaboration between species. Here, life competes but does not destroy without some accounting for the future. There is, of course, one exception. From an airplane window, the Amazon Rainforest seems infinite. It is not. Wounds left by humans are easy to spot, like holes in the forest. Lumber mills spew death like insatiable monsters along river banks near Iquitos, Peru. But the huge mounds of sawdust and timber offer only a small hint to scale of destruction. It took millions of years for the world's rainforests to be-come the incomprehensible cauldrons of life that they are today. Yet these precious lands are being leveled in the blink of an eye. The current rate of rainforest destruction is about 90 acres per minute. Forty-five million years ago rainforests covered much of the planet. In 1950, 15% of the Earth's land surface was rainforest. Within a few years, there will likely be just 7% left. Despite a rise in public concern in recent years, the pace of destruction has not slowed significantly. In the 1980s the average rate of rainforest loss was 12.8 million hectares per year. From 1991 through 1995, an average of 12.6 million hectares were destroyed. Considering that only 6% of the world's rainforests have any official protection, the worst is possible and perhaps inevitable. But what will we lose if the rainforests vanish? The practical value of rainforests is well established. They play a vital role in shaping the atmosphere and its weather patterns, to which basic human needs such as food and water are tied tight. They are also home to an incredible density of life. So much, in fact, that is still mostly unknown. To date, science can only offer names for about 1.5 million species globally. This barely scratches the surface of our planet's estimated ten to 100 million species. And no where but in the rainforests is so much life packed within such relatively small areas. For example, North America has about 700 species of native trees in total. Compare that with the 300 species of trees once identified within just 2.5 acres of the Amazon Rainforest. One in five of all the world's birds live in the Amazon. The abundance of insects and microoganisms is incomprehensible to most. The num-bers just go too high. Still, beyond this wealth of life, there is something more than number-crunching and rainfall patterns to make humankind's attack on the rainforests unacceptable. We risk losing something deep and personal to our species by burning down these Edens. They are a part of us, and we are a part of them. It comforts me to know that there are places on this Earth where the leaves grow so thick that the sun's rays barely touch the ground. I smile at the thought of ants living out hectic lives in a little universe they have helped sustain for millions of years. I am whole because there a wild places on Earth. If we erase the rain-forests and reduce nature to a few parks and pets, then we will have diminished ourselves and the Earth forever. The wealthy nations of North America and western Europe cashed in at nature's expense long ago. Today, developing nations such as Brazil and Peru are simply doing the same thing. They have been hit with heavy criticism from the wealthy nation, yet they are expected to cover most of the conservation costs within their borders. Environmental programs are a hard sell in countries faces with serious poverty and crime problems. The rich countries have the money needed to save the world's rainforests. Only the will is lacking. Sadly, it seems that they are far too busy pursuing yet more wealth to notice that an even higher wealth is going up in smoke. Statistics would seem to doom the rainforests, but pessimism fades fast when one is lost in the green. In a deep forest of Papua New Guinea, I smelled the smoke of burning fires as death shared my space. But even as people burned the forest within a mile of me, I found hope. I spotted a waterfall made tiny by the depth of a vast valley. Its waters likely had rolled on for centuries. I could not imagine its end or the forest's end. In Australia's Daintree, the world's oldest living rainforest, I met tourists from many different countries and backgrounds. Some were rich, some not so rich. Some were highly educated, and some clearly were not. But with almost identical words they spoke of their awe and respect for the rainforest. I listened to them talk about how important it is to save the rainforests. In the Amazon and other rainforests, I found that hope is as plentiful as life. How could destruction ever triumph here? The rainforests are Earth's great testimony to the power of life. It is nature's last stand. I sense that humankind will not bury this treasure, because lost in the shade of skyscraping trees, I confirmed that the Earth and I belong to each other. One day, I believe, all people will meet this truth. The Guardians of Hate By Guy P. Harrison It was another steamy summer day in Florida, and no place was hotter than the court-house steps of Brooksville. Proud Knights of the Ku Klux Klan had gathered to tell how it was, how it is, and how it must be. The Klan's public "rally" offered a glimpse at the jagged edge of hate. Klan pride was powerful that day. The Klansmen were in form, their confidence unwavering. They stood tall in their robes as if kings, and, in their minds, they were. Of those who were not fully hooded, my eyes travelled every inch of their faces, searching for a clue, some hint as to why they might have chosen this path. Swarming around the Klan speakers were pockets of screaming supporters and protesters. Their noisy chaos blended to create a symphony of the absurd. The gush of raw emotion was shocking, disgusting, and far too fascinating to ignore. I became electri-fied by the passion as I waded through the sea of anger. Scared but eager to take in every bit of the spectacle, I worked my way to the front of the crowd. Once there, I looked up and stared into the eyes of hate. "We want niggers to go back to Africa! It's best for them and it's best for America! Niggers belong in jungles, not in the USA! This country was built by white people, for white people!" The Klan speaker was a slender man with orange hair. His eyes glowed with excitement as streams of sweat streaked his face. Soldiers of the Klan stood behind him, echo-ing every one of his platitudes. The little man was large that day, a champion in the color contest. “Look at our schools! Look at the crime in our streets! We have to reclaim America and make it a country for decent white peo-ple again! "It's obvious that the jungle bunnies can't compete with white people. If they could, why would they need affirmative action and welfare?" Half the crowd exploded with cheers and jeers to punctuate each statement. Young Nazi/skinhead types laughed and clapped, as if they were at a high school football game. Black spectators threatened to "kick ass" and yelled "black power!" repeatedly to counter the Klan"s "white power" chants. For me, lost in this fog, it was stupidity in stereo. This display of mutants and misfits would have been just a silly sideshow if not for the depth of hate it reflected. This was no joke. A Klan rally is the slimy surface of a country and a world rotted by the concept of race.Back in 1866, the Ku Klux Klan came to life in Pulaski, Tennessee, supposedly as a social club for Confederate veterans of the Civil War. Its real purpose, however, was to assist in maintaining control of the newly freed slaves. The Clansman, a 1905 novel by Thomas Dixon, brought some recognition to the movement. Most significantly, however, the book inspired D.W. Griffith's monumental 1915 film, The Birth of a Nation, which sparked the Klan's rise to national prominence. In the early 1920s, the Klan virtually controlled the state governments of Oregon and Indiana, according to some US historians. The hate group's reach even extended to the peak of power, as America's 29th president, Warren Harding, took the Klan oath of membership in a private ceremony at the White House. In 1925, the KKK had some three million active members. By the 1930s, however, the organisation was nearly dead as a result of internal scandals. As America's Civil Rights Movement peaked in the 1950s, the Klan surged back to life in reaction, although never unified or as powerful as it once was. Today, the KKK remains splintered and has become overshadowed by Neo-Nazi and radical militia groups. But the Klan lives on, dwelling somewhere on the fringe, as a sort of symbol of hate. But they are not alone. I drove slowly through the ragged section of St. Petersburg, Florida. Some buildings were burned and gutted, like the scars of some war nobody ever bothered to name. A man in tattered clothes walked, but seemed not to move. A child stared through me as if I was from another world. Perhaps I was.I sought more than a peek at poverty that day, however. I was to meet with members of the African People's Socialist Party, a small group committed to black separation from the US Government, by violent means if necessary. A phone call set up the meeting. For background, I read a few issues of their publication, The Burning Spear. It was clear that these were angry people. I walked into the small building, plainly marked with a sign, and was greeted by two men. One smiled. The other did not. I told them I was looking for Chimurenga Waller. He was a party leader and brother of the group's founder, Omali Yeshitela. They led me deep into the building. I noticed several posters of protest and rage screaming out from the walls. I suddenly felt uncomfortable and even a bit afraid. I have never been uncomfortable around people with skin darker than mine. But I am always uneasy in the presence of hate. And, in this place, hate was in the air. In a barren back-room, I met Chimurenga. He was pleasant. The two who brought me in left and closed the door. A muscular man in a tight white t-shirt sat silently in the background. I was not introduced to him. The African People's Socialist Party, Chimurenga explained, rose up in 1966 out of JOMO (Junta of Militant Organizations), the Black Studies Group (Gainesville) and the Black Rights Fighters (Fort Myers). The Party also was influenced by the California-based Black Panthers of the 1960s.I asked why the group seemed to be so committed to violence. "We have to consider violence as the way to improving the situation of black people in America," Chimurenga said. "They [white people] have all the power, money and resources. We cannot imagine them giving it up peacefully." That is a disturbing thought: injustice will reign until violence stops it. From across the small table, I sensed a cold arrogance about Chimurenga. He reminded me of someone. He was so sure of his position, so confident that "his" people must rise up against "them". He was not so far away from that Klansman back in Brooksville.He explained that the Party believes black Americans are a colonized people, still being exploited by America, the "mother country". We want our own government. Our own businesses, our own lands," he added. "You seem to refer to white people as one unified group," I said. "Do you feel all white people are responsible for the injustices blacks have suffered? Do you hate all white people?" "No," he replied. "We don't hate all white people. But most are accomplices in some way to what is going on. They at least con-done it. "What about white people that want justice for blacks and everybody else?" I asked. "We don't want or need their help. This is a black crisis and we must find a black solution." And what is the "black solution"? "Self-determination," Chimurenga answered. "We want nothing to do with white America." They mean it, judging by their wish list. The African People's Socialist Party demands billion in reparations from the Federal Government and wants all blacks to be released from jails and prisons. The group also demands ownership of five southern states. Party literature describes America as a nation "founded on the genocide of native people, the theft of their land, and the forcible dispersal, enslavement, and colonization of millions of African people". No one can dispute those facts, but is violence and separation the best answer to that terrible past? These people are no visionaries. They do not want justice. They want only to vent a considerable amount of anger and frustration. Their philosophy mirrors the system that bred the crimes they detest. The African People's Socialist Party seems determined to become what it hates. But, of course, I kept those thoughts to myself as I smiled and said goodbye to the black rebels of St. Petersburg. Overall, they were pleasant people so far as they way they treated me. Only their message was repul-sive. Anthropologists concluded decades ago that race is a myth of culture rather than a reality of biology. No real wall between blacks and whites exists. It simply is not there in any meaningful sense. What is there is a canyon we have created in our minds. The Ku Klux Klan is repulsive, but is it really so far from the thinking of most people? I wonder if those who condemn the abrasive words of the KKK ever glance within them-selves? Is it any less wrong or destructive to believe in race, regardless of polite packag-ing? Is racial pride, for example, not just a respectable name for racial prejudice? If, as the scientists say, race really is a cultural lie masquerading as biological truth, then the masses must accept this. The idea of racial categories has provided humankind with both the structure and the fuel to prey upon itself. To support such a system in any way seems to me immoral.It took time, but even in the foul speech of the Klansman and the angry words of a black separatist, I saw beyond hate. I found unity and hope. For the guardians of hate may come in different colors, but they are more alike than different. Just as we are all. The Touch of God? By Guy Harrison "Hallelujah...Hallelujah...Hallelujah...Hallelujah..." Subtle music and soft words, carried upon the cool night winds, gently penetrate most of the six thousand who have come to this open-air soccer stadium in George Town. Random shrieks rise and fall from the crowd. Some begin to twitch and convulse, others cry. Virtually all reach upward with outstretched fingers, clawing at the heaven they hope to glimpse. Benny Hinn sings on, "Hallelujah...Hallelujah...Hallelujah" His illuminated figure is frozen against the black sky. Then, suddenly, he announces that the Holy Spirit is descending. It's healing time in Grand Cayman. Call it human psychology run amok, one man's charisma or the touch of God, but whatever one concludes about an evening spent with Benny Hinn, his power to stir emotions cannot be denied. Hinn tours the planet "healing" and spreading Christianity. He is supported by millions of followers, many through his television programme, This is Your Day!, that is beamed by sattelite into numerous countries around the world via the Trinity Broadcasting Network. People are routinely "healed" of cancer, AIDS, drug addiction, etc. at Hinn events. These extraordinary claims and his ministry's multi-million dollar income have drawn suspicion from the public and unflattering reports by media giants such as CNN and the BBC. But critics be damned, Hinn stands today as one of the most popular religious figures on Earth and it's not hard to see why. Intently guarded by a squad of weight-trained Secret Service types (complete with radio ear-pieces and robotic unblinking stares), Hinn works the stage like a master. His words flow and his smile glows. The stylish gray hair never moves as he stares into the cool Car-ibbean breeze. A little man, Hinn grows large in the spotlight. "I love this place," said Hinn wasting no time in charming his hosts. "This is a blessed paradise. The waters here are the most beautiful in the world, even better than Hawaii. Maybe when Jesus comes he will come to the Cayman Islands." Hinn was on target from the start, even pronouncing "Cayman" as the locals do rather than like all those tourists and expats that never quite tune in. Hinn is a people-person to say the least and he moves fast. One minute he is in Jordan sipping tea with royals, the next he is hugging a shoeless crack addict on a stage in Grand Cayman. God needs money. Hinn became defensive when the topic turned to money. "When you give, it doesn't go to me," he declared. "All of it goes to the ministry. Not me, my wife or my children ever touch one cent. I never have. I get a salary from my church back home [Orlando, Florida]. I do this for free. Check me out. Go ahead, check me out. All the money goes to the work of God, to get the Gospel out." Hinn continued, explaining that the most important reason he asks people to give is so that God can bless them. "If you have problems, if you want to get out of debt, then give tonight. God said 'give and it shall be given unto you.'" "God cannot bless you until you put something in His hand." Hinn then informed the audience that his ministry accepts donations by checks and credit cards. Scores of ushers roamed the isles with buckets and the money flowed from the some 6,000 believers in attendance. "Don't just give," he added, "sow, so that you can reap a mighty harvest." Several months ago, Hinn was asked by CNN's Larry King why he needs so much money when Jesus made do with a donkey and a pair of sandals. Hinn replied that Jesus didn't have a TV show to run. Touch! A Benny Hinn production is impressive from start to finish. The musicians are talented, the sound and lighting of pop concert quality, and Hinn flows from point to point in the programme with seamless style. But it is the "healings" which steal the show every time. "God heals today," declared Hinn. "I don't know why they fall under the power. It just happens." Effortlessly, Hinn entranced his believers as the music slowed. He sang just one word, "hallelujah", over and over. His eyes shut tight and his hand extended out to the masses before him. "Some will feel electricity, some will feel heat all over their body, some will feel vibrations." "Hallelujah, Hallelujah." He continued singing as screams broke the crowd's silence. "The Holy Spirit is coming upon us," Hinn announced. "Take your healing now. Take your broken body, your broken life and fix it. Just look up and say, "fix it!" Contray to common perception, this is when the "healing" occurs at a Hinn Crusade, not at the moment of his touch on stage. Those that appear on stage already experienced their "miracles" back in their seats. On stage, Hinn merely applies a sort of final touch to complete the experience. And what a final touch it is. In assembly-line fashion, the flamboyant Hinn goes to work. Assistants fed him believers alternately from both sides of the stage. He touched the face of a woman who said she had been addicted to cocaine for many years. She trembled noticeably and collapsed into the arms of an usher behind her. She is "free" of the addiction demon, said Hinn. The crowd cheered wildly. A young boy is "cured" of chronic eczema. He and his father collapsed in unison at the touch of Hinn's hand. Arthritis, diabetes, a heart condition, all those ailments and more are "healed" by Hinn this night. If a believer reacts strongly, he instructs the ushers to pick the person up so he can apply another touch of the "Holy Spirit" and put them down again. Believers in the audience exploded with passionate approval in reaction to these double and triple doses of the "Holy Spirit". Hinn is quick to credit God for the "healings". "I have nothing to do with this," he says to the audience. "I am even more amazed than you are." Glass Houses. Drawing some five or six thousand people on consecutive evenings in a country with a population less than 40,000 was an impressive feat. Obviously Hinn is popular in the Cayman Islands, as he is in many other countries, thanks largely to the power of television. In the wake of his visit, however, there were also those in the Cayman Islands that questioned his credibility, both on the "healings" and the millions of dollars his ministry takes in each year. Those are easy stones to cast, however. Too easy. What many of Hinn's attackers might ask themselves is why this healthy skepticism and clear thinking vanishes when confronted by their own very similar beliefs. Is it logical to ridicule Benny Hinn without also questioning the much more significant pillars which support him and so much more supernatural belief around the world? Is it not like attacking the clown while ignoring the circus? This article was originally published in the Caymanian Compass on 27 March, 1998. Unearthing the Guilt Within Heat hung in the air like a cloud of evil. I drained the last drops from my water bottle and, through squinted eyes, stared into the gates of hell. It seemed I had chosen the hottest and haziest of days to visit Yad Veshem. But this was only appropriate. In this place comfort would be rude... By Guy Harrison Yad Vashem sits atop Har Hazikaron (the Mount of Remembrance) in the outskirts of Jerusalem. It is immediately obvious to visitors that this is no warehouse for cold artifacts from a fading historical event. Yad Vashem is a sprawling 45-acre complex with many faces and many missions. Exploring it can be an unforgettable experience. This is a place that is active and alive. The museums teach, the architecture excites, the art stirs emotions and the memorials force abrupt psychological confrontations with the Holocaust. Yad Vashem is the world's most comprehensive place of respect and honor for victims. It is also the world's most important Holocaust documentation and research center. Yad Vashem gives respect to the memory of the dead, something they were denied in life. The names of more than three million Holo-caust victims, for example, are preserved with dignity in the Hall of Names. More than 50 million pages of documents and some 100,000 photographs relating to the Holocaust are stored in the Archive. Yad Vashem obviously succeeds as a powerful reminder and warning for the two million visitors it draws each year from around the world. And it will undoubtedly do so for many generations to come. The Historical Museum is central to the Yad Vashem experience. It contains many documents, pho-tographs and artifacts that tell the story of how the Nazis killed six million Jews in the 1930s and 1940s. The powerful exhibits are effective with few words. Included are enlightening clues about how prejudice evolved into oppression and then became murder. I observed a consistent reaction among the visitors in the museum. They seemed to struggle in their attempts to absorb the displays. Almost all, regardless of age, gender or nationality, did the same thing. They shook their heads and mouthed silent words of disbe-lief. It was obviously difficult for them to accept the horror before them. Near the close of World War II in Europe, as many of the Nazi death camps were liberated, Supreme Allied Commander Dwight Eisenhower said that as many as possible should personally see what had oc-curred in the death camps. He predicted that people would claim one day that it had never happened, that it was simply too outrageous a crime to have really occurred. Given the shock on the faces of modern visitors to Yad Vashem, I think Eisenhower was right. Witnesses, lots of witnesses, are important. Yad Vashem gives witnesses to the Holocaust a permanent court in which they may testify for all time. The eyes. More than a million children and babies died in the Nazi death camps. More powerful than that staggering number, however, was the quiet stare of one. I will never forget his eyes. Time and distance will never dull that little boy's stare into my heart. The Children's Memorial at Yad Vashem is a small structure dug into a hillside. Within it are huge black and white photographs of several young victims. I am unsure for how long, but one of them chained me to the floor. I stared back at a cardboard image that is likely the only thing left of his existence. He was probably killed before he ever reached the age of ten. This means he never attended a university, never read great books or took a shot at becoming a great athlete. He never made love to a woman and never imagined the satisfaction of growing old. Why was so much stolen from him? Most would answer with a shallow tale of criminals and victims. The real answer is deeper. This little boy was born to the wrong team at the wrong time in the pathetic human game of division. The centuries keep rolling over and the names change but the game remains. The false walls of race, religion, and nations keep us lunging at our neighbor's throat. We obsess on ten differences and never see a thousand things we share in common. The result is loss, loss like the disconnected dead-end stare of a little boy that never grew up. Given the challenges we face, humankind is in no position to discard resources, yet the destruction of one million young minds is the ultimate waste of potential. How, I wondered, can anyone continue to believe in and defend fabricated categories of humans when it leads to the murder of children like this boy at Yad Vashem? One candle in the Children's Memorial is reflected numerous times by mirrors. It creates a galaxy of lost lives within the dark. A recorded voice drones on and on, delivering a roll call of young victims. In that room, I believe I scratched the surface of understanding the Holocaust. Six million Jews murdered is a shocking fact, of course. But who can ever know the meaning of it when measured in terms of individual lives? How can anyone imagine the lost dreams, crushed hopes and broken promises of six million humans? The boy's stare held me for a long time. Other visitors surged by me without ever looking at me. The boy had captured them too. I watched a few Jewish visitors as they looked at the photo of the boy. I imagined their thoughts: "How could they do this to us?" "They." "Us." The question contains the answer. Suicide. History has dubbed the Holocaust a crime against humanity. I disagree. This de-scription suggests that the Holocaust was an attack upon humanity from something outside of humanity. It can be misleading to describe it as genocide or some unique episode of demons slaying angels. The Holocaust was suicide, or self-mutilation. It was humans killing humans in the name of labels, nothing new and nothing we have outgrown since then. It is perhaps comforting to imagine the Nazis as a small band of madmen that took over much of Europe and single-handedly exterminated millions of civilians. If true, it lets a lot of people off the hook. Not only were far more Germans and other Europeans involved in carrying out the Holocaust, but we are all on the hook of guilt in a general sense, even those of us born later. We make this world and we are all of one species, regardless of our shallow perceptions of division. If we dare feel pride in the Apollo Moon landings or the creations of Michelangelo, then we must also share the shame when our family turns on itself. At its deepest roots, the Holocaust was about ignorance, about believing in labels to a point beyond love and respect for fellow humans. Labels should not have mattered to people then, and they do not mat-ter to me now. I am not a Jew, yet I feel great loss. I am not a Nazi, yet I feel great guilt. Tears. As I walked the grounds of Yad Vashem, I had a recurring feeling that I was at a funeral service, or at least that I was at a cemetery. I was. Before entering the Hall of Remembrance, I was handed a yarmulke (Jewish skullcap) and told to put it on. I had not read about this particular building so I had no idea what to expect. I entered a large and gloomy tent-like structure with rough stone walls. A flame burned in the center of the room. Spread around the floor were inscriptions, names. I assumed they were the names of people, until one caught my eye: "Auschwitz" The names of 22 Nazi death camps littered the floor. Auschwitz had been the most terrible of them all, designed to maximize murder efficiency. The camp killed thousands of prisoners per day at its peak. The premeditated murder that camps like Auschwitz represent takes the horror of the Holocaust beyond its death toll figures. It illustrates something very disturbing about the human potential for evil. This was no blood lust in the heat of battle. This was about smiling guards guiding children into gas chambers and boastful men sending home postcards to their families, bragging about the Jews they had killed. To reduce fuel costs for camp crematoriums, engineers designed special trays to trap body fat as hu-man corpses burned in the ovens. The fat was then to be used as a fuel. The idea failed, however, because the prisoners had been so severely starved that they provided little body fat. Another example of murder efficiency was the use of "gas vans". Guards would load up to 40 prisoners into vans with specially sealed rear compartments. On the way to a burial or burning site, the vehicle's exhaust was piped into the com-partment, killing the prisoners by the time they arrived for disposal. More than 200,000 Jews were killed in this way between 1941 and 1943. I thought about horrors such as these as I watched the lonely flame dance in the shadows of the Hall of Remembrance. I learned later that the ashes of some Holocaust victims are kept within a small crypt in the memorial. Beside me, a small and very old woman cried quietly as she stared out across the floor. I wondered if she had been in one of the camps. Did she lose a family member or close friend? Or does she simply care? Hot metal. Yad Vashem's art surprised me. I had expected a depressing tour of evil. And while I did get that, I also encountered touching and inspirational art. Despite Jerusalem's cruel heat that day, I spent hours wandering around outside the buildings of Yad Vashem. Many powerful pieces are found throughout the grounds. One sculpture sits alone in the bushes. Named "Silent Cry", it effectively hints at the ache of hopelessness and abandonment that so many must have felt during the Holocaust. A huge metal sculpture of Jewish prisoners writhing in pain and taking the form of barbed wire hovers above the Jerusalem skyline. Although the art is obviously disturbing, I found it uplifting as well. Here was a jagged and repulsive freeze frame of suffering, yet just beyond it was Jerusalem, a thriving city filled with Jewish families, alive and strong. It made me think about how resilient humans can be. For centuries Jewish people have been hated and killed, yet they live on and they do so with remarkable energy and suc-cess. Jews, for example, represent probably less than .2 percent of the world's population, but Jews have won something like 15 percent of all Nobel Prizes awarded. I encountered another stunning sculpture (shown on the lead page of this article). It was pure agony in a human form, looking up at the sky while clutching...nothing. I examined the face and found myself imagining the figure finding life and asking me for help. I wished that it could have. blood.Military service is mandatory for most Israelis, and, apparently, a visit to Yad Vashem is part of basic training. On the day I was there, hundreds of soldiers with the youngest faces imaginable poured from buses and funneled into the museum. Later in the day while resting on a lawn I saw a large collection of their weapons left outside. Seeing those killing tools made me realize that Yad Vashem is more than a look back at history. Yad Vashem is a glance in the mirror. Ignorance blackened the skies of Europe with cancelled lives and people still weep over it today. Decades have past and the blood has not yet dried. But what has really changed? Those warriors of the Holy Land that I saw that day seemed so young and innocent. Would they really kill strangers if ordered? Yes, most likely they would, because somewhere out there strangers are willing to kill them. Standing in the wake of the Holocaust, we still cling to our tribes. The names change, the technology improves but we are no more sophisticated. Still, we cling to our beloved false walls rather than to one another. We remain apart for ridiculous reasons. Race, religion and nations remain life and death issues for many misguided members of the human family. As it was in Europe more than a half century ago, the stage is set for evil's visit. This article originally appeared in Cayman Executive magazine (second quarter, 2001)